


A Bullet With a Name

by CelticKnot



Series: The Paths We Are Given [5]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: Omega, 2181. Aria convinces Thane to take on another contract for her. No games, this time, just a quick, clean kill. But when Thane learns what his target is doing, he must make a choice: eliminate someone whose work is doing actual good, or break Omega's number-one rule.





	1. Prologue: Reunion

_Illium, 2185_

The airlock cycled open and released its occupants just behind the _Normandy's_ bridge. Vakarian and Massani went directly to the armory to stow their gear, but Commander Shepard motioned for Thane to follow her. She introduced him briefly to her pilot, a sarcastic and irreverent man she called "Joker," before leading him through the CIC toward a door at the rear.

Thane took in his surroundings as they walked, all senses on alert. Though he believed he could trust Shepard, Cerberus nevertheless had an evil reputation, and his own past experiences with the organization had done nothing to disabuse him of that. But though a few crewmen gave him sidelong glances and muttered about "aliens" as he passed, he sensed no open hostility from them, and detected no threat.

He noted, also, the curious design of the ship's interior. "It is unusual for human vessels to position the commander behind the bridge crew, is it not?"

Shepard nodded. "The original _Normandy_ was a joint project of the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy, so she had both human and turian design elements. The Alliance was curious as to how this setup would affect crew efficiency and morale. And then Cerberus"—though she schooled her voice carefully, Thane did not miss the slight curl of her lip as she said the name—"modeled this ship after her. The SR-2 is a bit bigger and has some decent upgrades, but we're still looking for more ways to prepare her to face the Collectors."

Her attitude toward her employer was interesting, indeed. Thane had of course heard of her before: Commander Amaryllis Shepard, hero of the Skyllian Blitz, first human Spectre, who had saved the Council from Saren and his army of geth. But the Systems Alliance had rewarded her heroism with mopping-up duty, sending her after what small enclaves of geth still remained in Council space. She had been reported killed in action on just such a mission.

The Alliance had abandoned and discredited her. And it was Cerberus that had brought her back from the dead, Cerberus whose uniform she wore and whose colors she flew. And yet she spoke the name as though it left a foul taste in her mouth.

Perhaps paradoxically, it made Thane feel better about signing on for this mission. It seemed worthy enough, but Cerberus's methods and philosophies had given him pause. They believed in the supremacy of humanity over all other species, and their activities were usually designed to sow terror and stoke hatred. But he could see no ulterior motive to their efforts to stop the Collectors, and the fact remained that human colonists were suffering, perhaps dying. So he had agreed to help, despite his reservations. That the commander of this mission held them in such contempt was reassuring—and raised his estimation of her considerably.

It would seem that Shepard was using Cerberus, not the other way around as perhaps the Illusive Man himself might believe. She had often risked her life for the greater good, but now she also risked her career and her reputation in order to do what needed to be done. She was acting out of a selflessness he had only ever seen once before, glaring back at him through his scope.

It was unsettling. And… intriguing.

"The briefing room is aft of the elevator," Shepard was saying as they passed through a door marked _Tech Lab._ "There's access through the armory, or this way through Mordin's lab."

His curiosity piqued, Thane raised his eyebrow ridge. "Mordin?" He'd known someone by that name not terribly long ago, but it had been several years since they'd parted ways. The galaxy was large. Surely it couldn't be the same person.

But as they passed a wall-mounted research station and turned a corner into the widening room, Shepard gestured to an old, scarred salarian bent over a table full of scientific equipment. "Our lead scientist, Doctor—"

Thane stopped short, blinking in astonishment. "Mordin _Solus."_

Solus glanced up from his microscope, widened eyes betraying equal surprise. "Thane Krios! Did not expect to see you again."

Shepard's eyes darted between the two of them, eyebrows raised. She cocked her hip and folded her arms, pulling back a little to regard them both with wary suspicion. "You two know each other?" she demanded.

"Not well," Solus chirped, cheerfully dismissive, as he turned his attention back to his work. He had changed little in the intervening years, it seemed. "Met once, four years ago. In… professional capacity."

"Really." Shepard spoke slowly, her voice pitched low, as if she wasn't sure she believed what she was hearing. She uncrossed her arms and straightened, her posture still casual but primed to fall into a fighting stance at an instant's notice if necessary. Ready to follow diplomacy with action. "And whose _capacity_ would that be?"

When Solus didn't answer her question, Thane said simply, "Mine."

Solus sniffed indignantly as he typed notes into a datapad. "At first."

"Sounds like a story," Shepard drawled. She seemed amused, a corner of her mouth twitching in a barely suppressed smile.

"Indeed," Solus agreed, lowering his datapad and smiling at her, gesturing widely as he continued. "Good story, full of intrigue! Betrayal! Adventure! Reminded me of time in STG. May tell you one day." He shrugged. "If all right with Thane, of course."

Thane spread his hands and said coolly, "I have nothing to hide."

"Ironic," said Solus. "Many secrets when we met. On both sides."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "There's not going to be a problem between the two of you, is there?" she asked. She kept her tone light, but there was a note of steel in her voice as well. "Because if there is, I need to know right now."

"Problem? No, no problem," Solus reassured her. He smiled at Thane. "Will be good to catch up."

"All right," Shepard replied with a shrug. "If you're sure you can play nice. Thane, if you want to hang back and catch up for a minute, I'll meet you in the briefing room. Through that door, on your left."

Thane bowed slightly. "Thank you, Shepard. I will be in shortly."

As the door closed behind her, Thane coughed once, then tucked his hands behind his back. "I'm pleased to see you are well, Doctor Solus."

"And you," Solus replied. "Must admit, am surprised to find you, ah, alive."

The one topic he preferred not to have to discuss, yet everyone seemed to want to discuss it. "My illness has not yet overcome me, no," he said stiffly. "I have… little time remaining, but it should be sufficient to see our mission through to the end."

Solus's expression softened. "Brave, as always," he said with a sympathetic smile. "Listen. Saw several drell at Omega clinic over years; have some experience with Kepral's Syndrome. Developed treatments to ease breathing, manage pain. Need anything—happy to help."

Thane dipped his head, some of the tension easing. "That is very kind. Thank you."

Something on the table chirped, and Solus rushed over to investigate. "Much work to do now," he said. "Talk more later. Difficult to think with all this chatter."

No, he had not changed at all.


	2. Assignment

_Omega, 2181_

Omega had changed little in six years. The stench of the place crawled down his throat, coating his tongue with the reek of stale booze, burning plastic, and several different species' filth. The docks were packed with people, from the desperate and destitute to the lawless and predatory: Omega attracted only those too poor or too depraved to live anywhere else. Harsh yellowish light cast a sickly pallor over every scarred, sullen, or despair-slackened face. And the noise—the babble of alien voices washed over him in a rush that overwhelmed his translator until it picked up only the nearest and loudest, in snatches of shouts, profanities, and pitiable pleas.

And over it all loomed the gaudy façade of Afterlife, neon lights flashing atop a short, wide, and deceptively welcoming flight of stairs. The muffled thump of bass from within underscored the semi-organized chaos outside. It would be loud enough within as to be nearly impossible to hold a conversation without shouting, a prospect which made Thane distinctly uncomfortable.

He was supposed to be meeting with a prospective employer about a contract. Discussions such as these were best held in whispers, behind closed doors, not at the top of one's voice in a crowded bar. But he supposed that when you had to strain to hear the person speaking directly to you, it would be difficult to overhear anyone else's conversation.

Not that many on Omega would care if they did. Still, it left him on edge.

The line for admittance to Afterlife stretched from the base of the stairs almost back to the docking bays, held up by a snarling turian attempting to threaten the bouncer into letting him in without paying the exorbitant entry fee. He roared and cursed, brandishing an almost comically large shotgun—though even he knew better than to use it out here. And the bouncer, the same unflappable elcor who'd guarded this door six years ago, met him with all the warmth and compromise of a stone wall. "Unimpressed: you can pay, or you can leave."

Thane checked the time and shook his head impatiently. He was going to be late, a thoroughly embarrassing notion. He considered sending a message to his contact—perhaps they could vouch for him, convince the elcor to let him jump the line.

Then again, he thought as he eyed the bouncer again, perhaps not.

About the time he began to consider confronting the turian himself, someone tapped him on the shoulder roughly. "Krios?" a deep, gravelly voice rumbled. He turned and found himself confronted by a batarian in heavy armor, empty-handed but with an assault rifle strapped to his back.

Thane cocked his brow ridge and replied, "That depends upon who is asking."

The batarian scowled. "Don't play games, Krios. Aria knows you're here. She'll see you now."

Aria T'Loak? What did she want of him this time? Thane gritted his teeth as memories floated to the surface. The last time he'd encountered the pirate queen of Omega—

" _Do that for me," she says, "and I'll point you right to where those friends of ours are hiding. Deal?"_

_I stare for a moment at her proffered hand. I feel sick. It's an easy enough job, but what she's asking me to do… it goes against everything I've been trained for, everything I believe in. But I have no other choice. And I think she knows it._

_Defeated, I shake her hand. "Deal."_

_The cruelty of her answering grin makes me wonder what, exactly, I've gotten myself into._

Thane blinked once, shaking off the memory. "Well, she will have to wait," he said archly, turning toward the line again and tucking his hands behind his back. "I have an appointment I cannot miss." Though it was beginning to look as though he might, anyway. He clenched his jaw in annoyance.

With a snarl, the batarian grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around. It took an exercise of discipline not to break his arm and throw him to the ground. _"Now,"_ Aria's lackey growled. He tried to forcibly pull Thane out of the line, but Thane knocked his hands away and stepped aside of his own volition. He didn't have time for Aria's games. But if it got him into Afterlife without waiting for the outcome of the battle between irresistible force and immovable elcor that still raged up ahead, so be it.

The batarian began to follow him as he headed toward the doors. Thane stopped short but didn't turn around, instead tilting his head to the right ever so slightly. "I believe I can find my own way," he said coolly.

The batarian spluttered indignantly, but backed down. _A wise move._

If Omega had changed little since Thane had been here last, Afterlife had changed not at all. The same repetitive, pulsing music blared through the club at deafening volume, the smoke of various substances choked the air with the same noxious miasma, and mostly-naked asari danced on tables with the same wanton abandon, for the pleasure of patrons watching with the same lecherous gazes.

Thane even recognized one of the bartenders. In a moment of curiosity, be approached the bar and waved the turian over.

"Don't get many drell here," the bartender commented. "What's your poison?"

"Actually, I'm looking for someone," said Thane. "The last time I was here, I spoke with a human girl. Anna. Is she still employed here?"

The bartender's mandibles flicked suspiciously as his eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to—oh!" He nodded in sudden recognition. "You're that guy who came by here a few years ago, askin' about that red sand dealer. What was his name? Skell?" He grinned. "Heard you did a number on him."

Thane swallowed hard against the memories that rose like bile in his throat. "Is she here, or is she not?" he snapped.

The bartender held up his hands and backed away a step. "Okay, don't wanna talk about it, I get it," he said, and shook his head. "Nah, she ain't here. OD'd on Hallex a couple years back. Forvan"—he jerked his thumb at the batarian at the other end of the bar—"found her in the stock room. Poor thing. She was a sweetheart. Didn't have the stuff to make it on Omega, though. This place'll eat you alive if you're not careful."

"Indeed," Thane murmured, as much to himself as to the bartender. _Kalahira, Mistress of inscrutable depths… have mercy upon her._ "Thank you."

"Yeah, sure."

Thane checked the time again, then headed for the table in the back corner where his contact had instructed him to wait. He still had no idea who he was meeting, only a pass phrase and prescribed response by which they would know one another.

He was saddened, if not surprised, to learn of Anna's fate. It had occurred to him to apologize to her. She had helped him in his… errand for Aria six years ago, and he had rewarded her only with cold dismissiveness. His thoughts had been taken elsewhere, consumed by grief and rage and desperation, and her flirtations—whether genuine or only expected of female bartenders in this establishment—had rubbed salt in his wounds. She couldn't have known that, of course.

But it was far too late now to make amends.

Before long, a tall, scowling turian strode up to his table and loomed over him, his mandibles flicking impatiently. "I thought Druval went out and got you so we could skip this charade," he growled. When Thane's only response was a raised brow ridge, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. _Expel 10's playing tonight."_

The pass phrase. _"I have tickets to the show,"_ he replied coolly. "You must forgive me for assuming security measures were put in place for a reason."

"Whatever. I'm not even the one you're here to meet, anyway," the turian sneered. "All's I know is, Aria's pissed. You better get up there."

The pieces were beginning to fall into place. This Druval must be the batarian he'd met outside. His "contact" was only a messenger. This entire meeting was a farce orchestrated by Aria to lure him into her web. It was possible there had never been a contract at all. She must have assumed that, after their last encounter, he would never willingly take a job for her again.

If so, she had assumed correctly. But the pistol in the turian's hand—and the hard stares of several other nearby "patrons"—made it clear she'd successfully ensnared him, anyway.

He could still refuse. He might even escape with his life. But many innocents (insofar as the word could apply to anyone here) would inevitably be harmed in the process. Aria had won this round. "Very well," he said to the turian, and got up from the table to climb the stairs toward Aria's dais.

Aria paced back and forth, snarling, as four bodyguards looked on stonily. She reminded Thane of an Earth creature he'd read about, a _lioness,_ all deadly grace and coiled power, hungry and ready to spring. She stopped her pacing as Thane approached, an icy smile spreading across her face.

"Thane Krios," she drawled before he could speak. "Took you long enough." She sat down on her couch and stared insouciantly up at him. "You made quite a mess of my station the last time you were here."

_Forel's shrieks climb in pitch as my fingers sink into his face. Blood pours down his cheek as the eyeball pops loose, hot and slick in my hand. I tear it free. He vomits. "The name, or I take the others."_

Thane forced the memories back and held Aria's gaze with a cold glare. "I shall endeavor to be… neater, this time," he replied, keeping his voice carefully dry. "What is it you want of me?"

"To talk about your contract, of course." Aria leaned back, crossing her long, shapely legs and draping her arms casually over the back of her couch as if around the shoulders of two invisible flunkies. "What else?"

So the hit was real, after all. Thane tucked his hands behind his back and raised his chin defiantly. "You may find someone else to do your torturing. I'll not work for you."

"Oh, come on, now." Aria pouted, but there was mockery in her eyes. "You can't tell me there wasn't something… _satisfying_ about the way you took out our friend Mr. Skell."

" _No."_ Biting back a snarl and more painful memories, Thane fought to keep his voice controlled. "Never again."

But Aria only laughed, low and throaty and darkly amused. She pushed herself to her feet in one fluid motion, pulling around herself a cloak of predatory and dangerous allure. Hips swaying, she stepped forward until there was only a finger's breadth between them, and brought one hand up to stroke the frills on his cheek in a shockingly intimate gesture. "You think you can say 'no' to me?" she purred.

Thane stiffened and gritted his teeth, but refused to allow her the satisfaction of any further reaction. "You have no leverage over me this time, Aria."

"Don't I?" She backed up half a step and waved a hand lazily. As one, all four of her bodyguards leveled their weapons at him, fingers on triggers. "No leverage at all?"

He swept his gaze coolly over each of them, assessing the situation. Two batarians, a turian, and a krogan awaited Aria's orders. At a word from her, or perhaps a gesture, they would open fire.

In that case, provided he could avoid the krogan's massive shotgun, his shields would hold for three to four seconds—more than enough time for him to kill or incapacitate the batarians, both of whom were armed only with light SMGs. The turian's assault rifle made him a bit more problematic, but if Thane could take advantage of the krogan's slower reaction time, he could get around behind him and use his bulk for cover. That would give him time to bring his biotics into play. He could Throw the turian over the railing behind the couch and onto the bar below, before the krogan could turn around. Then he should have just enough space to vault over the krogan, snapping his neck on the way down. If Aria chose to watch rather than intervene, as was her way, Thane would be in little danger indeed.

And if she did intervene… well, what did it matter?

No, if Aria thought this constituted "leverage," she was sorely mistaken. Meeting her eyes again, he said flatly, "None."

Aria stared down at him, evaluating, then scoffed and turned away to drop back onto her couch. Almost as an afterthought, she gestured for her men to stand down. "Suit yourself," she replied flippantly. "I wasn't going to ask for any torture this time, though. You could've stuck to your noble fucking principles for all I cared. I just thought you'd appreciate the challenge."

"Challenge?" Now, that was simply insulting. She was baiting him, he knew, but he rose to it anyway. He tucked his hands behind his back and stood straighter, glaring at her indignantly. "And what _challenge_ could one salarian physician possibly pose to me?"

Aria smirked. "And now we come to the purpose of our little meeting." She nodded toward an empty section of couch in wordless invitation, and Thane hesitated, but sat. Staring out over the goings-on of Afterlife, Aria continued, "Mordin Solus isn't just a doctor. He's former STG, as likely to kill you as cure you. He spent his career working on a project that a certain friend of mine finds… objectionable."

STG? That changed things considerably. If this Solus had been part of the Special Tasks Group, he would likely have combat and surveillance skills far beyond the average physician—perhaps even to rival some trained in the Compact. He just might pose a challenge, indeed.

Despite everything, it was… tempting. Thane leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, folding his hands under his chin. "And this friend of yours wants Solus dead as retribution for his role in this project."

"In short, yes. There's more to it than that, but the rest is need to know. And you don't." She turned her head toward him just a fraction. "Interested? Or do you still want out?"

His first instinct was to refuse. He should leave. If she was going to give him an out, he should take it and run. Obviously, there was far more to this contract than she was telling him, and he strongly suspected he wouldn't like it if he knew. Aria's skills at manipulation, he knew from personal experience, were not to be underestimated.

But… something nagged at him.

 _As likely to kill you as cure you,_ she'd said. What did that mean? Surely this Solus didn't just decide on a whim, when someone came to his clinic for help, whether to treat them or shoot them on sight. That would be bad for business, even on Omega. No, it was more likely she meant he was experimenting on them, using his patients as lab animals to test new drugs and procedures. The thought made Thane's stomach turn. If Solus was abusing the trust inherent in his profession to prey on the vulnerable of Omega, like some mad scientist out of a horror vid, then he needed to be stopped. Immediately. Thane could not, in good conscience, walk away from this job simply because it was Aria T'Loak who asked.

He drew a deep breath, and nodded. "I'll do it."


	3. Intelligence

Working in an embattled medical clinic in the slums of Omega was morally satisfying, intellectually stimulating, and of course, incredibly dangerous. The times that it was emotionally rewarding, however, were rare. The station was a difficult place to live, and the kinds of people who did live there reflected it. Some of the patients that came though the clinic gave the staff a hard time, their attitudes ranging from surly and suspicious to downright belligerent.

But most… most were the type that Daniel just wished he could help more. The ones who came back again and again, sick because they couldn't afford decent food, or bruised and bloodied from another "accident." The children brought in by parents, older siblings, or the rare compassionate stranger after suffering a gunshot wound or being mauled by a varren. The ones for whom treating their physical illnesses and injuries felt like treating symptoms rather than causes.

But every now and then, there were days like this, the shining moments that made it all worthwhile. Daniel grinned widely as he placed a snugly wrapped, softly trilling bundle in a young turian woman's arms. "Congratulations, Miss Octatis," he said. "It's a boy."

"A boy," she whispered, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her newborn son's tiny face. She traced his fluttering mandible with one knuckle, her talons tucked carefully into her palm and away from his still-soft plates. "My Lucian. It's okay, _minis,_ Mamma's got you. Oh, Spirits, you're so beautiful." Looking up at Daniel, she smiled with serene, exhausted joy. Tears spilled down her face. "Thank you, Doctor Abrams. For everything."

Days like these reminded him of why he'd gone into medicine in the first place, and why he'd chosen to practice it here. Valia Octatis had been his very first patient when Dr. Solus had hired him eight months ago. She'd been a homeless, starving, drug-addicted teenager, and had come to the clinic when she couldn't keep down what little food she could scrounge. When he'd told her she was pregnant, she had broken down in tears, confessing that she'd been raped several weeks before. She hadn't come in until now because she'd been afraid to learn exactly this.

She could barely take care of herself, she'd said, let alone a baby. She couldn't bring a helpless child into the kind of life she was living. What could she give him but a life of poverty, illness and suffering? No, she'd wailed, she couldn't have a baby.

So Daniel had offered to terminate the pregnancy, and she had gratefully agreed. But as he had prepared the necessary medications, she had grown more agitated and distressed, not less. He had assured her that the procedure would be quick and painless, but she'd stopped him at the last minute. "Can I… can I think about it for a while?" she'd asked.

"Of course," he'd replied. "It's entirely up to you."

He'd watched with sick apprehension as she'd left, certain he wouldn't be seeing her again. More than likely, he'd thought, she would overdose and die before she carried the baby to term. Or else the drugs would kill the fetus, and she'd bleed to death as she miscarried. He'd wished there was more he could do for her.

But by some miracle, she'd come back. Two days later, she'd shown up at the clinic door again, trembling and sick and barely able to stand. She'd been suffering from acute withdrawal symptoms—and wanted prenatal care.

Daniel had been overjoyed to see her, and had let her know as much. He'd made it his personal mission to help her get and stay clean, and to keep her baby healthy. Over the next few months, he'd become her confidant as well as her physician. He'd held her as she cried on the days when the cravings seemed too much to resist. He remembered the look on her face when he'd congratulated her on staying clean for a whole month, and the day she'd practically bounced into the clinic to tell him she'd found a job and a place to stay. He'd watched her skeletal form fill out, growing stronger and healthier, and rejoiced with her at every kilo she gained.

Dr. Solus had cautioned him against forming emotional attachments to his patients. "Population transient, lawless," he'd said, perhaps as gently as he was able. "Happy endings the exception, not the rule. Only bring yourself unnecessary pain."

For the most part, he'd been right. Daniel had seen other patients, and had poured his heart and soul into helping them like he had with Valia, only to watch them die, or disappear. Sometimes his caring was returned with curses and abuse. But however Dr. Solus might admonish him, he always tried to err on the side of compassion anyway.

And though he'd come to regret his attachments many times in the past, this was not one of those times. "I'm just doing my job, Valia," he said. "You did all the hard work. I'm so proud of you."

Valia's mandibles fluttered as her neck flushed blue. Her smile faded as she gazed down at the baby in her arms. "But I get the feeling that's nothing compared to what's next," she whispered. "What if… what if I can't do it? What if I turn out to be a terrible mother?"

Daniel laid a hand on her shoulder. "Valia, everything you've accomplished has been for the love of your son. You're already the best mother little Lucian could ask for."

"I'm scared."

"I know. But I also know that you're going to be amazing. You already are." He patted her shoulder and stepped back. "I'm going to leave you two alone for a little bit, all right? I have to make my rounds, and I'll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. If you need anything at all, call me, okay?"

"Okay."

Daniel hummed to himself as he checked on the clinic's other patients, a spring in his step that even the crankiest krogan merc couldn't quash. By the time he came back to look in on Valia, he found her with Lucian snuggled up to her keel, both of them fast asleep, the picture of blissful peace. Never had he been more thankful for the modern medical technology that allowed him to take both of their vitals without waking them. Exception it might be, but this story—or this chapter of it, anyway—seemed to have found its happy ending.

* * *

Dr. Solus had been leaving more and more of the patient care to Daniel of late, spending most of his time holed up on the lab. He was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about whatever it was he was working on, too, and Daniel wasn't certain if he should be annoyed or worried.

Not that he minded the responsibility—on the contrary, this was precisely what he'd signed up for, what he'd always wanted to spend his life doing. That Dr. Solus trusted him with so much was gratifying and encouraging. But until about three weeks ago, the old salarian had been very hands-on, exceedingly particular about how the clinic was run. Almost micromanaging. His withdrawal had been abrupt, nearly complete, and largely unexplained. "Research," was all he would say.

And it was all terribly hush-hush. He would tell Daniel nothing at all about his "research," and rejected all offers of assistance. "Take care of patients," he would say dismissively. "Help that way." He even kept his notes locked away, careful not to let Daniel see anything.

That was probably the strangest part of it all. If there was one thing Daniel knew to be irrefutably true about Mordin Solus, it was how much he loved to talk about his work. He could hold forth for hours, chattering excitedly about his latest discoveries, not stopping until one of his experiments clamored for his attention. Then he would dive back into it, humming classic show tunes from Earth and ignoring everything else around him.

But these days, he didn't sing much. Daniel had never thought he'd miss the tortured rewritings of _The Pirates of Penance,_ but Dr. Solus's silence had gone from refreshing to unnerving surprisingly quickly. And his secretiveness about his project was so out of character as to leave Daniel more than a little worried.

Yes, today was a "worried" day.

As Daniel prepared to leave for the night, he knocked on the door to the lab. After a moment, the lock blinked from amber to green, and he entered to find Dr. Solus securing his notes in a drawer, as usual. And as usual, Daniel pretended not to notice. He handed him a datapad. "The day's reports, Doctor."

Dr. Solus took the datapad and scrolled quickly through the charts, nodding his approval. "Excellent work," he said. "Can discharge Nakmor Kellik in morning. Keep Valia Octatis one more day for observation. Monitor infant." He handed the datapad back with a tight smile. "Doing well with increased workload, Daniel. Clinic might not need me at all."

Daniel chuckled. "That's not true. This clinic wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you." He nodded toward the lab table, covered in strange equipment and flasks of brightly colored and strange-smelling fluid, only some of which he remotely recognized. "Are you sure there's nothing I can help you with here?"

"No." Dr. Solus shook his head. "Go home, Daniel. Rest. Patients need you." He paused and looked up at the ceiling, frowning.

Daniel followed his gaze, but could see nothing but tiles, light fixtures, and air vents. Puzzled, he asked, "Is something wrong, Doctor?"

"Hmm? Oh. Heard something. Sure it's nothing." Dr. Solus waved a hand dismissively. "Good night, Daniel."

"Good night, Doctor."

Daniel couldn't help but look back over his shoulder as he left. He watched as Dr. Solus frowned up at the ceiling again before turning back to his work.

Worried, yes. Definitely worried.

* * *

Thane froze as Solus looked up. It seemed the old salarian stared directly at him. But the air vent was dark; there was no way he could see anything through the grate from down there. Thane could only pray that Solus would dismiss the errant noise as due to the station's omnipresent vermin or a hiccup in the aging ventilation system, and ignore it.

He gritted his teeth and bit back another cough. His symptoms had been steadily worsening over the past few months, and now they were beginning to interfere with his work. He could no longer deny the fact that his health was in steep decline; there was no telling how long it would be before his Kepral's Syndrome left him entirely incapacitated. It would be terrifying if he allowed himself to think about it.

So he didn't.

Instead, he focused his attention on Solus's assistant: Dr. Daniel Abrams, human, fresh out of medical school on Elysium. He'd arrived here around the same time Solus had, and had helped him found the clinic. But whatever nefarious experiments Solus was involved in, it seemed Abrams knew nothing of it. He struck Thane as almost childlike in his guileless innocence.

That could be useful, actually, Thane mused. Abrams' trusting nature could be exactly what he needed. He still had to gather more intel on Solus before launching his attack, and in the right circumstances, Abrams just might be convinced to tell him everything he knew.

Now he had only to get out of here without arousing further suspicion. Solus continued to stare up toward his hiding place with narrowed eyes, even as Abrams took his leave. As the lab door slid shut again, Thane considered taking the opportunity here and now: he could kick out the grate, drop to the floor, and snap Solus's neck before any alarm could be raised. Getting out again might be a bit more problematic, considering the almost paranoid security measures Solus had in place. But they were designed to keep hostiles out, not in. He'd faced worse before.

No, he decided. He wouldn't kill him yet. Not until he knew for certain what Solus was up to. Besides, the inevitable noise was likely to bring Abrams running back, and Thane didn't want to have to kill him, as well.

Solus appeared to be cleaning up, preparing to go home for the night. The safest plan was probably to wait, to watch him until he left, and then make his escape when there was no one there to hear him move. Maybe he could even learn something useful in the meantime.

But Solus gave away nothing, only silently packing his things and turning off equipment. Finally, he turned around—and looked back up at the ceiling. "Know you're there," he said with a surprisingly gentle smile. "Don't be afraid. Not going to harm you."

Thane's momentary concern gave way to amusement. Solus may have heard him in the ventilation duct, but certainly couldn't see him and had no idea what lurked in the shadows. He thought Thane was one of Omega's many _drala'fa,_ what on the Citadel they called "duct rats"—the orphan children who played or hid in the shafts and crawl spaces.

Best not to disabuse him of the notion. Thane remained still and silent, waiting him out until Solus shrugged, placed something on the lab table, and left.

Curious, Thane waited a few minutes until he was reasonably sure Solus wasn't coming back, then quietly removed the grate and dropped to the floor. Upon investigation, he found that what Solus had left on the table was… a credit chit. A small one, but enough for two or three hot meals. It was not the kind of gesture Thane had expected of a mad scientist.

Then again, neither was the way he'd spoken to Abrams. He was hiding something, obviously. Even his naïve young colleague could see that. But he didn't entirely fit the profile of the evil genius, toiling away at some wicked scheme.

Thane turned the chit over in his hand as he considered this information. It changed little, really. He had accepted a contract. Besides, what difference did it make if Solus was kind to his peers and gave token charity to the poor? These small acts of good could not make up for a life of sin.

But still, he hesitated. He needed to find out what Solus was up to before he pulled the trigger.

He pocketed the chit and turned his attention to the lab table. Solus had stored his notes in a drawer underneath it, which Thane quickly determined to be electronically locked. His meager hacking skills decidedly outclassed, he forced the mechanism with a few units of omni-gel and pulled out one of several datapads stored within.

Scrolling through Solus's notes, Thane swore under his breath. It was utterly indecipherable, written in a combination of dense scientific notation and what had to be the doctor's personal shorthand. He understood not a word of it. Useless.

He replaced the datapad and closed the drawer, the lock re-engaging automatically, and carefully wiped away the last traces of omni-gel. When no indication remained that he'd ever been there, he sprang back into the ventilation duct and left the clinic the way he'd come.

As he emerged into the regular traffic of Omega, a small child ran into him full-tilt, nearly bowling him over. A human girl of perhaps six or seven, she stumbled back, cringing when he looked down at her with his brow ridge raised. Unkempt black hair fell in tight coils over her face, and her dark brown eyes welled up with tears.

Memories came rushing back of another little urchin he'd met on this very station, six years ago. Young Nicolas, orphaned by red sand and a duplicitous, greedy charlatan posing as a physician. Nicolas, who had latched onto Thane and Drack because they'd been the first to show him kindness in Gods only knew how long.

Nicolas, who'd been shot dead for no other reason than to get Thane's _attention._

The little girl stared up at him, frozen, quaking in terror. "S-sorry," she stammered. "I-I-I didn't mean to—"

Thane held up a hand, trying to calm her, but she flinched as though she expected him to hit her. The scrapes and bruises across her cheek told the tale of how she'd learned that response: backhanded by an armored gauntlet.

"It's all right," he said softly. "I won't hurt you."

She whimpered, her lower lip trembling. His words had only frightened her more. Sweet Arashu, what had this child been through, that even kind words terrified her so?

Thane crouched down to be at eye level with her, and held out Solus's credit chit. "Here," he said. "Get yourself something to eat."

Her eyes widened, and she stared at the chit in his hand. She backed away a step, then another, watching to see if he'd follow. For a moment, he thought she might run rather than accept his small gift. But when he made no move to pursue her, she darted forward and snatched the chit, retreating back out of reach as fast as she could. She studied it for a moment, as if she couldn't quite believe it was real. Then she did run, scampering back into the shadows and whatever felt to her like safety.

Thane stayed where he was, momentarily overcome by a soul-deep weariness, a sense of futility in the face of evil. The galaxy was a dark place. He knew, of course, that he couldn't make an appreciable difference in that darkness—he was only one man, after all. But he could do what little was in his power to make it just a little bit brighter. Sometimes, though… sometimes he wondered what the point of it was. Only minutes ago, he had smugly reflected on Solus's hypocrisy—but how different was he, himself?

He had removed many dark and evil things from the world, made a little more room for light. But wasn't he a dark and evil thing, too? How much light would fill the void he left when he was gone?

_Kalahira, Mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness. I beg forgiveness._

Thane stood, scowling, shaking off his dark thoughts and pushing his doubts to the back of his mind. He still had a job to do.


	4. Observation

It was perhaps a minor miracle that Nakmor Kellik, the Blood Pack brute whose concussion Daniel had treated yesterday, had heeded his advice and stayed overnight. By the time Daniel arrived to relieve the night shift, however, the krogan was obviously itching to leave. As soon as he was cleared, he stomped out of the clinic with an obscene gesture, making enough noise on his way out to wake baby Lucian. The infant's cries, in turn, drew grumbles from the other patients as his mother hushed him frantically.

Maybe one day, Daniel hoped, they'd be able to afford a maternity ward.

The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly as he made his rounds, checking on each patient in turn, changing bandages, administering medications, taking vitals. "Quiet day today, Doctor?" Valia asked when he came around to her.

"Hush, you," he teased with a grin. "Don't say the 'Q' word! You'll jinx it."

Valia frowned, uncomprehending. "Uh… jinx?"

Before Daniel could explain, a deep, rattling cough sounded from the clinic's entrance. It continued, harsh and relentless, the sufferer barely able to get a breath in between. Someone was in severe respiratory distress. Daniel winced in sympathy. "Jinx," he said dryly, hooking a thumb toward the door. "I have to go. Call a nurse if you need anything; I'll be back as soon as I can."

Daniel bolted from Valia's room out to what passed for a lobby. Pushing past the ever-alert mechs guarding the door, he nearly ran smack into one of the nurses who ran the reception desk. She supported a drell who was still coughing so hard he could barely stand. "He asked for Dr. Solus," she said tersely.

Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be unusual— Dr. Solus was beginning to develop a reputation in this part of Omega as something of a miracle worker—but this man could barely even breathe, let alone speak. That he would expend the effort to ask for Solus by name was odd.

"I'll take him from here, Sarah. Thank you," said Daniel. Then to the drell, he said, "All right, sir, I've got you. Come with me."

The drell's coughing subsided long enough for him to nod, swallow hard, and gasp for air before another spasm tore through him. From the sound of it, Daniel had a sinking feeling he knew what the problem was. He guided his new patient to the nearest available bed, then quickly prepared a rescue inhaler.

The drell needed no instructions, taking the medication with the ease of long practice—he'd clearly suffered such attacks before. After a few moments, his coughing stopped, leaving him panting for breath and visibly exhausted. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Not Solus," he croaked.

Daniel shook his head and gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster. "No, I'm afraid Dr. Solus is unavailable today," he said. "I'm Dr. Abrams, but you can call me Daniel. Can you tell me your name?"

A bit too smoothly, the drell replied, "Nuara. Tannor Nuara."

The drell equivalent of  _John Smith,_ if Daniel recalled correctly. Probably not his real name. But Daniel had long ago learned not to push, and instead only nodded as he opened his omni-tool. "Okay, Mr. Nuara, I just need you to lie back for me. I'm going to take a quick scan and see if I can pin down what that coughing fit was all about."

"There's no need," Nuara said. His jaw clenched, and he continued flatly, "I was diagnosed with Kepral's Syndrome nearly seven years ago."

Exactly as he'd feared. "I see," said Daniel softly. "I'm sorry to hear that." But to be honest, he had to admit to being a little relieved. Having to tell a patient he was terminally ill was never a pleasant experience. Here on Omega, it could even be dangerous.

Nuara looked away, stone-faced. "Spare me your pity, Doctor. I accepted my body's death a long time ago."

Somehow, the obvious lie felt like the most honest thing he'd said so far.

But Daniel knew better than to press the issue. "Okay," he said amiably. "Let me get that scan, anyway, and we'll see if I can at least make you a little more comfortable. All right?"

With a raspy sigh, Nuara lay back on the bed, folding his hands over his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. "Very well. Do what you must."

* * *

Abrams conducted his examination with competent efficiency, even as he kept up a steady stream of friendly chatter. He maintained a cheerful and reassuring manner throughout, though he couldn't quite hide the worried frown that ghosted across his face as he studied the results of his scans. Whether that worry was due to the actual progression of Thane's illness or because Abrams was beginning to suspect his coughing fit had been faked, it was difficult to tell. But either way, Thane needed to steer the conversation toward the real purpose of his visit.

"How long have you worked for Dr. Solus?" he asked casually.

"About eight months. He took me on when he opened the clinic." Abrams began to warm the diaphragm of a stethoscope in the palm of his hand. "You can sit up now. Go ahead and take off your jacket and vest; I want to listen to your lungs. Anyway, I came here right after med school because I wanted to go somewhere I thought I could really make a difference. I'd thought about joining the Alliance, but military life didn't really appeal, you know?"

Thane nodded as he folded his clothes neatly and placed them on the cot beside him. He had to suppress a smile—it seemed getting Abrams to talk would be easier than he'd thought. "Understandable."

"Didn't really know what I was in for, though," Abrams admitted. "This place is rough. People don't go easy on you just 'cause you're a doctor. Deep breaths for me?"

Abrams stopped talking long enough to listen to a few breaths, then made some notes on his omni-tool. "Anyway, I got on the wrong side of some Blood Pack the same day I got here, and Dr. Solus… uh, rescued me."

His hesitation was telling. Thane cocked his brow ridge and said, "You mean he killed them."

Abrams' eyes went wide and he took a step back, waving his hands frantically. "No! I mean… well, yes, but… I…" He swallowed hard. "You're not…?"

"Working for the Blood Pack? Here to take revenge?" An amusing thought. Coming from anyone but this guileless your physician, it might have been insulting. Thane shook his head. "No, Doctor, you needn't worry. I have no affiliation with any of Omega's mercenary gangs."

Abrams visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Dr. Solus always says I talk too much. That I overshare. I thought I'd really stuck my foot in it this time."

There was a tone in his voice, a deep respect that approached adoration. Not a trace of fear or suspicion. "You admire him," Thane said.

The beginning of a headache was starting to gather behind his eyes. He ignored it.

"I do," Abrams replied frankly. "Dr. Solus is a great man. He's really making a difference here." He closed his omni-tool. "You can go ahead and get dressed. How are you feeling now?"

"Much better, thank you." That was a lie. Thane's hands shook slightly as he fastened his vest and jacket, and his stomach lurched when he stood—no doubt a reaction to the unnecessary medication he'd taken. He could only hope it would pass quickly. "I would like to pass on my compliments to Dr. Solus as well. Might I speak with him?"

"I'm afraid not," Abrams replied. "Like I said, he's unavailable. But I can give him the message."

Thane frowned in false confusion. "Is he with another patient?" he asked. He knew exactly where Solus was, and approximately what he was doing, but he wanted to see how Abrams would answer.

"No, he's working on a project," Abrams said immediately. "He asked me not to interrupt him except in an emergency."

Thane studied him for a moment. There was not a trace of deception there, no indication that he was holding back or hiding anything. "What kind of project?"

Abrams shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest. He's researching something—I think he got some kind of grant, maybe, or a sponsorship? It was all very sudden, and he won't tell me much. But it's probably the only thing keeping the clinic funded."

"A research grant? On Omega?" This was unexpected, and strange. It also complicated matters tremendously. "From whom?"

But it seemed he'd pushed Abrams' sympathetic nature a bit too far. "I don't know, exactly," he said slowly, his brow furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

Thane waved off his suspicion. "Simple curiosity, that's all. Please forgive me for prying."

"That's okay." Despite his words, Abrams' smile did not quite reach his eyes. Perhaps he wasn't quite as naïve as he appeared. He handed Thane a datapad. "Take this prescription to the front desk. They'll fill it for you. And I'd like to see you for a follow-up in a few days."

That was his cue to leave. "Thank you, Doctor," said Thane, taking the datapad with a small bow. "You are very kind."

Thane tossed the datapad on the reception desk on his way past, the protests of the baffled nurse barely registering as he left. The side effects of the medication made it difficult to think clearly. His head pounded, his stomach rolled, and his heart raced as he struggled to work through what he'd learned so far.

The clinic did not seem to have the sinister reputation he had expected from Aria's description of Dr. Solus, nor did Solus himself. The clinic staff was competent and compassionate, and Abrams, at least, clearly suspected nothing. As far as Thane could tell, Solus's clinic was doing nothing but good here.

Of course, the doctor's undisclosed "research project" remained a mystery—it was entirely possible that he kept it so in order to present exactly this façade of charity to the residents of Omega. Perhaps all of his nefarious activities remained behind the closed doors of his labs. But Thane could find no evidence of anything untoward happening. This clinic was helping people. Whatever Solus was up to… if it kept this place running, was it worth the cost?

What  _was_ the cost? The absolute secrecy of Solus's project all but guaranteed something illicit, but so far, al was suspicion and conjecture. There was simply not enough information to make a determination.

This contract had suddenly become far more complicated than he had anticipated. He would complete it, regardless—Mordin Solus would die, one way or another. But though Aria may not care if the clinic went down with him, Thane did. It was too bright a light to snuff out for the sake of one man's misdeeds, no matter how dark. There had to be some way to save it.

There was far too much at stake here. Thane stopped in the middle of the street, turned around, and headed back toward the clinic. He needed more information.

He would make that follow-up appointment after all.

* * *

"Ah! Daniel. Evening reports already?"

Daniel grinned as he handed the charts to Dr. Solus. "Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it, Doctor?" He nodded at the lab table. "Making progress?"

"Yes. Going very well. Wish I could tell you about it." Dr. Solus's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and there was a tightness in his voice that didn't match his enthusiastic words. He skimmed through the day's charts. "Anything unusual today?"

"Not really," Daniel replied with a shrug. "Well, actually, there was a drell who came in this morning. He was in respiratory distress—turned out to be late-stage Kepral's. He asked for you, specifically, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I'm setting him up with an outpatient palliative care plan." He grimaced. "For what it's worth."

Dr. Solus nodded solemnly as he studied Daniel's notes. "Yes. Kepral's Syndrome unpleasant. Treatment options… very limited. Death inevitable." He looked up at Daniel again, and this time his smile was far more genuine, if a little sad. "Fortunate, to have you."

"Just doing my job, Dr. Solus." He took the datapads back and added, "There was something a little off about him, though. He kept asking to see you. And he had a lot of questions about you, and your project."

"Hmm." Dr. Solus tapped his finger thoughtfully on his lips. "Did he give his name?"

"No. I mean, he told me is was 'Tannor Nuara,' but I'm pretty sure that's an alias." Daniel frowned. "Why?"

Holding out his hand, Dr. Solus said, "Let me see charts again. Presented with respiratory distress, you said?"

"Yes," Daniel confirmed. "I don't know how he even got here—he could barely stand by the time I saw him. He must have been nearby when the attack started." He shrugged. "I gave him a bronchodilator to get him breathing again. There wasn't as much swelling as I expected, given the severity of the attack, but his lungs aren't in good shape. I'd say he's functioning on about sixty percent capacity, lesions on both sides, and it's beginning to metastasize."

Dr. Solus studied the chart for a long time, his eyes narrowed, frowning. "Something not right here. Not sure what. Said he asked about me?"

"Yeah, he was really interested in what you're researching, and who's funding it all."

That seemed to startle him. He stiffened, fingers tightening on the datapad until Daniel thought he might crack the screen. But "I see," was all he said. "Made follow-up appointment?"

Daniel nodded. "He'll be back in four days."

Dr. Solus sucked in a long breath, his mouth set in a grim line. "Please be careful, Daniel. Double-check security measures. Interrupt me, if necessary."

It was honestly that last part that Daniel found the most unsettling. He swallowed hard. "Do you think he's up to something?"

"Can't be sure. Call it… gut feeling." He reached out and laid a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Don't want to see you hurt."

"Don't worry, Doctor," Daniel said with more confidence than he felt. "I've dealt with scarier guys than Mr. Nuara. I can handle this."

But Dr. Solus didn't seem reassured. "Hmm. Certainly hope so."


End file.
